On That Note
by B.A. Tyler
Summary: A missing scene from "Goodbye, Farewell and Amen." Takes place after B.J. tries to leave Korea but ends up being sent back; meanwhile Hawkeye has returned from the institution. Don't you think they have things they should talk about?
**On That Note…**

The following fic is a missing scene from "Goodbye, Farewell and Amen" and it was written in response to this prompt on tumblr:

" _There's a short scene when B.J. returns to camp after trying to make it out of Korea and Hawkeye walks up to him and Potter. Hawkeye, still presumably smarting from B.J. having left without a note, kind of brushes him off. But the next time we see them interacting they seem mostly back to their rapport. I'd love to see a fic, maybe fill in the first real conversation between them when B.J. gets back, because I'm sure there was some angst flowing."_

The scene takes place soon after the one mentioned above in the request. It was important to me that I create a scene that doesn't step on or take anything away from the one that comes _later,_ in the mess tent, where Hawkeye tries to get B.J. to say the word "goodbye," because (a) that's an essential scene to the entire episode, given the ending, and (b) it's one of my favorite scenes in all of canon. I hope this little tale I've created doesn't trample on that conversation too much (hopefully not at all).

* * *

"I lied," B.J. blurted out when Hawkeye stepped into the Swamp. He didn't even wait until the door closed. He was sitting there on his cot—dammit, _his_ cot again, after he'd had the luxury of thinking he'd left this pigsty behind once and for all—and his stomach was a twist of knots. He'd unpacked his single suitcase a half hour ago, and since then he'd been sitting here anxiously waiting for Hawkeye, because they had to clear the air. About everything. Except… where to begin?

Begin with the truth. Always begin with the truth.

And in this case, the truth was the lie.

Hawkeye looked at him curiously but said nothing. So B.J. continued, amending his statement: "Well, I lied a _little_. When I said that I didn't have time to leave you a note… you know, before I left. Klinger got me a flight at the last minute, and I had to leave here with the chopper pilot to make it to Kimpo in time. So I really _was_ rushing around like a maniac—that part wasn't a lie." He paused as Hawkeye went to the still and poured himself a gin. It was unnerving—Hawkeye saying nothing. There was so much wrong with that picture.

B.J. powered on, "But when I got to Guam, all the flights were canceled and I found myself in an Officers' Club with all kinds of time on my hands. I had my notepad on the table in front of me, right next to my beer, and I had _plenty_ of time to write my best friend a note. Write it, drop it into the mail, you'd have it in a few days. But you know what, Hawk? That notepad stayed blank. Ten minutes stretched into thirty minutes, and then thirty stretched into an hour. And then _hours_. And still the only thing written on my pad was 'Dear Hawk.'"

Hawkeye's cot creaked as he sat down facing B.J., sipping his gin. His expression was unreadable.

B.J. looked down at his own hands, feeling both sheepish and bewildered. "Next thing I know, I'm being sent back here. Of course the whole thing was an Army snafu—Potter, Klinger, me—we all knew it. But I couldn't manage to get out of Dodge fast enough to take advantage of it. My first thoughts were of Peg and Erin, of course… how close I'd come to seeing them again… just in time for Erin's birthday. But then I realized, well, at least this means I get to see Hawkeye again. That's something. It hadn't felt right, leaving the way I did… not right at all, with you still in the… well, you know where you were."

"Nuthouse." It was the first word out of Hawkeye's mouth since he walked in, and B.J. winced.

"Yeah. Well. It was no way for two best friends to part." He looked at Hawkeye's still-stoic face, then shifted his eyes away. "You know what I think? I think I couldn't write you a note because there aren't any words for what we have and how much we mean to each other. No words… not in English or Korean or Spanish or _any_ language."

"I think that's just about right," Hawkeye said, and the tenderness and forgiveness in his voice is what allowed B.J. to look back at him. Hawkeye waved a hand dismissively. "Hell, I'm not pissed at you—not really. Of course you would grab that golden ticket and get the hell out of here. I'd have done the same thing. It's all right, Beej… no note necessary. You live in my head. I heard the echo of your goodbye, even if you didn't— _couldn't_ —say it."

B.J. smiled although tears sprang to his eyes, catching him off guard. Not wanting Hawkeye to see his emotional reaction, he stood and went to the still, busying himself with the process of getting a drink. After a while, staring into the gin he'd just poured, he went down another difficult road. "I was scared for you, Hawk. After the bus. After you drove the Jeep into the O Club."

"I don't even remember doing that," Hawkeye said in a faraway voice.

B.J. looked at him sharply. Best not to get into the horrific details… B.J. was no psychiatrist, and he didn't want to unwittingly undo the healing that Sidney had so skillfully done. "We didn't know what would happen if Sidney couldn't help you, and it scared the shit out of me."

"You and me both, Beej."

"I hope you know…" he began, aware that his heart was thumping—almost jumping. He cleared his throat, started again, "I hope you know that nobody blames you for what happened that night. Nobody."

It was Hawkeye's turn to avert his eyes. This was all still so raw… the wounds still fresh. A baby had died, a casualty of war for sure, but not in the traditional sense. Not killed by a gunshot or a bomb or a landmine. Killed because of the fear that the war instilled in everyone. Even Hawkeye. Behind his wisecracks and raucous laughter, Hawkeye lived in fear over here. And that night on the bus, his fear had led to an unspeakable horror.

But if Hawkeye hadn't said something to that mother… somebody else would have, right? B.J. was certain of it. Maybe it would've even been him—B.J. Hunnicutt, loving father, patient peacemaker. Maybe he would have been the one to snap, in a flare of panic, "Keep that baby quiet!"

If there was one word that B.J. had learned the true meaning of in Korea, that word was "desperation." In a moment of desperation, an innocent life was lost, and Hawkeye's world was changed forever.

And, incidentally, B.J.'s too.

When he'd been sitting in that O Club in Guam, staring at his blank notepad, wondering what to write down, he'd actually understood for the first time why he was so relieved to be going Stateside. It wasn't necessarily his desire to get home to Erin before her second birthday—although that was certainly part of it. And it wasn't necessarily his yearning for his family—after all, the war was sputtering to an end anyway, and going home was within reach for everyone.

No, he had seized those travel orders like a drowning man grabbing hold of a buoy because it was an easy and immediate out… a way of escaping the pain of watching Hawkeye become so un-Hawkeye-like. It tore B.J. up inside, to see his best friend staring blankly, or crying uncontrollably, or (worst of all) ranting incoherently. When he visited Hawk that last time in the hospital (the _nuthouse_ ), ever-so-careful not to mention that he intended to bolt home early, he could only look on in anguish as Hawkeye paced and spouted out nonsense in a strong reaction to their chat about Erin's little fingers and booties. B.J. honestly didn't know exactly what set him off. But that visit really drove it home for B.J. His need to flee Korea was strong. The war had taken Hawkeye Pierce—a gifted surgeon and a funny, sweet man—and it had stripped him of his strength, his humor, his joy.

The war was turning Hawkeye Pierce into a ghost, and B.J. simply could not take it anymore.

Travel orders? Hell yes!

Running away might have been easy, but fate made sure B.J. didn't get to take the easy road. Fate pushed B.J. right back to Hawkeye, for both the proper goodbye and the chance to be the best friend he claimed to be.

Now, with the bus incident hanging in the air between them and the silence starting to spin out, B.J. took a seat next to Hawkeye on his cot. He put an arm around Hawk's shoulders and said, "You're the most amazing man I know, Hawk. The kindest and the most generous and certainly the most caring. What happened that night was not your fault. The war gets the full blame. This damned stinking war."

Hawkeye didn't seem to have any response to that, and for a moment, B.J. regretted this entire part of the conversation. He wanted to show his support, but was he making matters worse by opening up a wound that had only just begun to heal? He kept his arm around Hawk, trying to figure out what to say next… whether to say anything at all… and then Hawkeye did what Hawkeye always did. He opened his mouth and beautiful words tumbled out.

"You know, Beej, it's funny. I can't be pissed at the war. Yes, the war's the cause of so much pain and loss and horror. The wounded we see every day. Henry Blake's death. What happened on that bus." Now Hawkeye lifted his face and searched B.J.'s eyes, as if he fully expected to find answers to the world's great mysteries there. "But the war's also the reason I met you. Without the Korean conflict, Hawkeye Pierce does not meet B.J. Hunnicutt. It's selfish as hell, but if we're compiling a list of pros and cons, that's one very big 'pro' in my book. It almost evens out the balance sheet. So yeah, the war stinks, but it also doesn't, if you follow me." He chuckled a little, perhaps nervously, then added, "Then again, my cheese just slipped off my cracker in recent weeks, so you probably shouldn't put too much stock in my opinion."

"Actually," B.J. whispered, pulling Hawkeye closer, "I like that opinion very much." They sat that way for a long moment, and in the distance, B.J. could hear the Chinese musicians struggling to perform the Mozart piece to Winchester's satisfaction. Closer by, Margaret and one of her nurses were discussing a patient as they walked toward post-op. Closer still, Klinger was telling Igor that he was going to do something _crazy_ tonight. As if that didn't happen every day of the week and twice on Tuesdays.

B.J. shut his eyes and smiled into Hawkeye's hair. This place certainly wasn't Mill Valley—hell, it wasn't even the 4077th's usual location in Uijeongbu—but it was still home. He wasn't ashamed to admit it: he was glad to be back.


End file.
